


The Art of Loss

by Leahelisabeth (fortheloveofcamelot)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean is an Exhibitionist, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt Sam Winchester, M/M, Sam Angst, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-25 22:53:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9850301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fortheloveofcamelot/pseuds/Leahelisabeth
Summary: Sam had lost his brother for a hundred Tuesdays, and then for six lonely months.  Time is still counting down to the moment he loses Dean for good to the fires of hell.  One thing Sam knows for sure, he is not letting his brother go now.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is my submission for the 2016-2017 Supernatural Reverse Bang. Big thanks to the artist, kuwlshadow, for the picture that inspired it all. Art post can be found [here](http://kuwlshadow.livejournal.com/62174.html). Also, thank you to my sister for being my biggest critic but also my biggest fan.

Dean was loud. Dean was always loud. But today, not for the first time, Sam was wishing for an off switch. Dean’s music was loud. His off-key singing was loud. So was the chewing as he threw gigantic handfuls of potato chips into his wide open mouth. Sam had been in silence for so long that he wanted to relish it, to cherish the time he hadn’t yet lost but after six months of silent hotel rooms, broken only by quiet gasps of pain as he fixed up his own wounds, and silent car rides when he couldn’t stand the radio and its memories, he had lost his tolerance. His ears felt bruised. He could feel his head beginning to pound as there was no break from the sound. The lights from oncoming headlights were suddenly far too bright, each one bursting into his vision like fireworks. Sam wanted to throw up but he didn’t want to deal with Dean’s yelling if he got vomit on the upholstery so his whole world narrowed to two things, trying to breathe and keeping his stomach where it belonged. It took him a little while to realise that Dean was talking to him.

“Hey, Sam?”

It also took Sam a while to realize that the car was blissfully quiet. The engine was off. The radio was off. Dean wasn’t even fiddling with his keys. He wasn’t sure if he should try to open his eyes or not. Carefully, he cracked them open, There were lights in the courtyard of the motel but Dean had pulled them into the shade of a tree and it blocked most of the direct light.

“I got a room already,” Dean said softly.

“We should keep going,” Sam slurred.

“Yeah, I don’t think so. We’re nearly 20 hours from Broward County. I can’t drive anymore without a decent night’s sleep and if that squint tells me anything, that migraine means you aren’t fit to drive,” Dean’s words were confrontational but Sam noticed gratefully that he made a practiced effort to keep his voice low and even so it didn’t strike Sam’s ear drums like a hammer.

Sam considered fighting. He had not yet deployed his secret weapon. And his puppy eyes were usually even more effective when his face was tight with pain. But he could feel the relief at finally stopping and the idea of a real bed was suddenly all he could think about.

“Just for one night,” Sam agreed.

“Just one. Then we keep going until we run out of continental US,” Dean promised.

Sam expected Dean to grab their bags but he only came over to the passenger door and heaved Sam to his feet. “I carried ‘em in already while you were doing your corpse impression in the front seat,” Dean offered before Sam could ask.

Sam tried to stifle the sharp note of panic but he couldn’t quite keep it out of his voice. “All by yourself?” he asked, his voice breaking.

“Yes, Sammy, all by myself. 28, remember?” Dean teased.  
“What day is it?” Sam asked.

“It’s Thursday, really early Thursday,” Dean said softly. “It’s definitely not Tuesday anymore.”

Sam tried to feel relief but 'Dean died on Wednesday too' is all that is running through his head. But then Dean was pulling him up, his hands strong, and a firm shoulder was tucking itself under his own and Sam coul lean on this, Dean, here, alive and well.

“Close your eyes, Sammy. I know your head is killing you,” Dean murmured.

Sam obediently closed his eyes and reveled in the feeling of having someone to trust again after so many months on his own. It was almost too soon that Dean was letting him collapse onto the bed farthest from the door.

He listened as Dean stepped quietly around the room, setting up wards and salt lines, making sure everything was secure. And finally his brother came and stood beside his bed again. Dean sighed and pulled Sam’s boots and jeans off before manhandling him into a more comfortable position and pulling the blankets and sheets up around his shoulders. He turned to go and Sam’s hand shot out to grasp his brother’s wrist.

“What is it, Sam?” Dean asked.

Sam didn’t know how to say what he was thinking. “You were dead,” he finally whispered.

Dean sighed. “I know.” And then he toed off his own boots and his belt jingled as his jeans hit the floor. And then he was crawling into bed beside Sam. Dean turned his back to Sam and Sam wondered if maybe he should turn his back too. But Dean firmly grabbed Sam’s hand and dragged his arm over his side. “I’m not going anywhere,” he promised.

Sam wrapped himself tight around his big brother and finally allowed himself to sleep deeply.

* * *

Sam felt warm, warmer than he had in six months of early mornings. And he also felt rested. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had slept this well. He could smell a familiar scent, gun oil, leather, and home, and there was a comfortable weight on his left arm. He smiled as even breaths grounded him as they drifted through his slowly waking mind. Dean. His brother was still asleep and Sam indulged in a rare moment of closeness, pulling his brother tighter to his chest. Dean shifted but didn’t pull away and his ass subtly pressed closer to Sam’s very interested groin.

And if Sam had been less conscious, he might have pushed back and enjoyed whatever this was for just a little longer. But he was awake now and he no longer had the excuse he needed to stay where he wanted to be. He sighed and gently extricated himself from the bed. Dean’s eyes blinked open for a moment but when he realized it was just Sam, he snuggled deeper into his pillow and drifted off again. By the time Sam showered and was back with coffee from the shop on the corner, Dean was awake and dressed and had a case pulled up on the laptop.

“It’s a dragon, Sammy! A dragon!” Dean wiggled his eyebrows.

Sam rolled his eyes. “The Gowrow isn’t a real dragon. It might not even be a real lizard. I know a bunch of people claimed to catch it and put on animal shows. But they always ended the same way, with a staged escape and an audience too terrified of being eaten to demand refunds.”

“Hey, I can read too. But there has also been a real upswing in disappearances of household pets and livestock. And a couple of hikers have disappeared too.”

“Sure they didn’t just get lost?” Sam raised his eyebrow.

“Well, it’s possible…” Dean trailed off.

“You had ulterior motives, didn’t you. What is it? Another girl you know from your past? More twins? Or maybe a bar you want to go to? A specific pie bakery you must visit?” Sam scoffed.

“Alright, alright, maybe I did have ulterior motives. But it wasn’t for me. You were looking kinda stressed. I thought we might as well check this out. If there is a dragon, we have another epic story to add to our collection, and if there isn’t, well we can do some hiking, a little camping, enjoy a night out under the stars, no people around to attempt murder.” Dean looked up at his brother earnestly.

“You hate hiking, and camping, and the outdoors,” Sam said skeptically.

“Yeah, but you don’t,” Dean retorted.

“You’re right,” Sam replied. “But you still don’t have to do this for me.”

“I know,” Dean said. “Now get your ass in gear. We’ve seriously gotta update some of our camping gear and I want to get on the trail as early as possible so we don’t lose the day.”

* * *

The boys stepped out of the Impala at the mouth of the hiking trail. It was a perfect day. The sun was shining bright. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. It was warm for February but there still was basically no one out on the trails.

Sam grinned, feeling the weight of the last six months peel off him like a scab. Maybe this was exactly what he needed. The weight of his pack didn’t feel like it was dragging him down. It kept him feeling real and present, as well as strong and capable.

They hiked for hours until they got to the place with the highest incidence of reports but they didn’t see any signs of large reptiles in the forest. Sam was completely fine with that. No one was trying to kill them. Dean was making jokes. It wasn’t Tuesday. It wasn’t even Wednesday. They made camp early. Dean slipped and fell in the river while he was catching their dinner. Sam laughed for the first time in what feels like forever when his brother came back to the fire Sam built, looking like a drowned rat and threatening to roll around on Sam’s clean, dry bedding.

It was getting a little colder with the approach of night so Dean stripped out of his wet clothes by the fire. Sam indulged himself and watched. Dean noticed him looking and wiggled his ass a little.

“Like what you see, Sammy?” Dean wiggled his eyebrows lewdly before turning and stretching, every inch of him on display.

Sam blushed and clutched his jacket tightly to his lap to hide his treacherous bulge. But he couldn’t quite bring himself to look away. And Dean didn’t bother to hide himself either, just kept looking at Sam with challenge in his eyes as his cock filled and hardened without a hand on it.

“Your move,” Dean grinned.

Sam slowly released the death grip on his coat and lowered it to the log beside him. He splayed his legs out so Dean could see the tent in his jeans.

That was all the encouragement Dean needed. He licked the palm of his right hand and reached down, groaning as he finally put a hand on his cock. Sam didn’t look away as Dean stroked himself to completion, coming on the ground by the fire. And then Dean was moving, kneeling in front of Sam, pulling open his fly and pulling Sam’s own dick out the opening. Sam nearly fell off the log as Dean slowly stroked him with his come-covered hand. Neither of them said a single word but Dean seemed to sense when Sam was close and he bowed his head and sucked Sam down to the root. Sam shouted as he came down Dean’s throat.

And still, neither of them spoke as Dean tucked Sam carefully back inside his pants, licked the come off his own hand, brushed off his muddy knees and got dressed. Sam stood up and started cooking the fish and they both went on as if nothing had happened.

* * *

Sam thought it might be awkward when they got into the tent for the night. But it wasn’t. They silently went through their bedtime routines, as normally as they could considering. The tent was small considering the size of the two men who would be sharing it. Sam lay down first, still clothed in case he had to get up quickly, and he couldn’t help but freak out a little when he realized just how much of the tent he was taking up. But once Dean finished brushing his teeth in the nearby stream, he crawled into his sleeping bag and settled down, his side a long line of heat down Sam’s side. Sam tried to keep to his own space but Dean just sighed and stretched out to fill the remaining bit of tent and Sam found himself once more with an armful of Dean. For a moment, he wondered if he should expect an encore, but Dean just told him to go to sleep and snuggled down. He couldn’t think of a single complaint as he drifted off to sleep far faster than he normally would when in the woods with a monster on the loose and all the sounds of wildlife surrounding their tent. It was a chilly night, but neither of them could feel it as they wrapped up tightly in each other’s arms.

A terrifying screeching sound woke them in the wee hours of the morning. Dean shot up, face red and striped where it had been pressed into the creases of Sam’s shirt, pistol springing into his hand from under his pillow. Sam was already reaching for his knife. But it was too late. Their tent was already open to the air as six inch claws tore through the cloth like paper.

Sam scrambled out one way and Dean rolled the other. The monster was huge, scales gleaming in the moonlight, wicked claws rearing back for another strike. And it was aiming for Sam. Suddenly his knife felt very inadequate. Sam threw himself back. His foot caught in a small hole and then he was falling. The shirt across his chest whispered as it fell apart under the onslaught of the claws. Sam shouted as his skin also fell prey.

“Sammy!” Dean screamed. Then he was firing, emptying his clip in the monster’s face. The Gowrow barely flinched, the bullets ricocheting off its scales. All it did was empty Dean’s gun and draw the attention of the monster. It was like a scene from one of Sam’s nightmares. Because he could see his brother. And the monster was swinging again. But Sam felt like he was running in slow motion. Every step felt like an hour slogging through molasses. And once again, Sam knew he could not save his brother. And this time, there would be no waking up to Asia, dead brother restored. And there would be no Wednesday and the six months after with a Trickster waiting to rewind every lonely day. And the months that Sam had left to get his brother out of that infernal deal. Well, they would be gone, snatched from him like every other person he had ever loved in his life.

Dean yelled as the Gowrow’s claws found their target. Sam was seconds too late as Dean went down in a spray of blood. Sam howled like a wounded animal. A red mist came down over his vision and all he could see was the monster that had dared to take his brother away. And Sam was just plain finished letting Dean die. The knife was still small and insignificant compared to the curving blades jutting out of the monster’s paws, but Sam didn’t care. He leapt on the back of the monster and wrapped his legs around it’s thick neck and tried to squeeze. The creature roared and slammed Sam back into a nearby tree, trying to scrape him off, but Sam held on, even though all his breath had been stolen from his lungs. Then the creature rolled. Sam cried out as his ribs creaked and one cracked audibly.

But then Dean pushed himself up on an elbow, blood staining the front of his shirt and spilling down to darken his jeans too. “Sammy,” he tried to shout. And Sam found new strength. He gripped tighter with his legs and swung around so he was hanging in front of the monster. He steeled himself, gripped his knife, and thrust up into the roof of the creature’s mouth, shouting as it’s jaws snapped shut in reflex, trapping his arm.

The monster writhed, trying to shake him off, but Sam held tighter, getting his other arm around the muzzle of the creature and forcing his screaming arm to shove the knife deeper. The monster was growing weaker, it’s movements slower, and its head drifting closer to the ground until Sam’s feet could finally touch the ground. He took his last strength to drive up with his feet, finally shoving the knife into its brain. He twisted the knife viciously and the monster finally collapsed, bringing Sam down with him.

Sam’s chest heaved as he fought to regain his breath before gently extricating his arm from the Gowrow’s jaws. He had several deep punctures in his arm, but thankfully his arm was not broken and the creature hadn’t torn open any major arteries. He would live. He barely took the time to assess his own injuries before he was crouching down beside Dean, reaching out with his left hand toward his brother, his injured right arm dangling uselessly at his side.

Dean’s chest was a ruin of blood and the cuts were both long and deep. It looked bad and Sam knew that time was of the essence. He took the time to place gauze over the worst sections of the cuts and wrapped Dean’s torso in an Ace bandage before ignoring his screaming ribs and hoisting his brother up over his shoulder, hoping that Dean’s weight would be enough to stop the bleeding.

Dean swore a blue streak at him but Sam could feel himself slipping back into who he had been for those six months after Wednesday. He shoved down everything, his thoughts, his feelings, his aches and pains, the blood that slowly trickled down his right hand and dripped onto the forest floor. Nothing mattered but getting Dean back to the hotel alive. Because Sam would not lose his brother again. Never again.

Sam didn’t remember much of the hike out. Dean was in and out of consciousness but his in moments grew fewer and farther between. And Sam, as much as he ignored it, could feel himself growing weaker too. He only had one good arm to carry Dean and his other side was full of throbbing heat. He could barely move his swollen fingers and, because he had not taken the time to dress his own wounds, his life blood was slowly staining the ground.

They reached the Impala as Sam reached the end of his strength. He opened the passenger door and went to his knees as his legs finally gave out. He wasn’t even sure how he found the strength to get from the position draped over his shoulder and into the seat of the car. The trip around the hood felt like a mile and he nearly passed out as he finally pulled himself into the driver’s seat. Dean was out for real now. Sam knew he couldn’t do anything for him here. He grabbed a water bottle from one of the cup holders and managed to twist it open one handed. He chugged it back in an effort to counteract his blood loss long enough to get Dean back into town. His stomach roiled as he fought to keep it down. It did its job, keeping him alert enough to drive to the nearest hunter friendly clinic and tell them about his injured brother in the car before collapsing to the floor.

Sam wasn’t aware of time passing. They were treated in the same room after Sam put up a fight. Sam could barely feel the sensation of the doctor irrigating his puncture wounds and stitching them up, so focussed was he on watching the slide of the needle through the skin of Dean’s rising and falling chest. He hadn’t lost his brother, not yet. Sam allowed the IV because he could feel the dizziness threatening to pull him under and they promised to do it in the same room as Dean’s treatment. He wouldn’t let his brother out of his sight. He couldn’t even close his eyes. Bad things happened when Sam wasn’t paying attention. He didn’t even acknowledge the doctor when the bandages were wrapped around his forearm and when he explained the basics of wound care as if Sam hadn’t done it a thousand times before. Finally, Dean was stitched up too and a bag of blood dripped into his arm, fighting back the terrible paleness in his face. Sam felt himself relax minutely before tensing up again, reminding himself of his duty to keep his brother alive.

They wanted to keep Dean overnight but once the IV was finished, Sam didn’t see the point of keeping him in for observation and besides, the doctors were starting to make pointed remarks about Sam leaving and getting some rest. Dean woke up and tipped the argument in Sam’s favor. He didn’t want to stay any longer either.

Sam felt like he was breathing easier as soon as he and Dean were in the Impala. Sam pulled a blanket out of the trunk to cover the bloodstained leather and Dean slept the whole way to the motel. He was still pretty out of it as Sam pulled him out of the car and guided him into the motel. Dean didn’t resist as Sam pulled the torn remnants of his bloody clothing off and helped him into a clean pair of boxers. He tucked Dean into the bed and settled down in an armchair close by to keep watch. He left the bedside lamp on it’s lowest setting so he would be aware of any changes.

Fire was beginning to lick up his arm and he thought longingly about the prescription for pain pills that he had filled before leaving the clinic. But if he took drugs, they might make him sleepy and if he took his eyes off Dean for a single second, his brother might slip away for good this time. So he endured the growing pain, let it keep him awake and alert. He watched Dean’s chest rise and fall evenly.

“You don’t have to watch me, Sammy. I’m not going anywhere,” Dean rasped. Sam jumped

“Says you,” Sam snapped.

“Seriously, Sam, you were hurt too. You need to rest. Who knows what kinda shit that thing had in its mouth. I will be so pissed at you if you die from an infection before my time is even up because you’re too stupid to get proper sleep,” Dean pouted sleepily.

Sam was torn between laughing at Dean’s sleepy face and ignoring his brother. He laughed, desperately, but he stopped when he realized how close it sounded to sobbing. Dean was trying to push himself up in the bed, even though his abdominal muscles were torn and painful. Sam stood to help his brother but the sudden stand combined with his lowered blood volume had him collapsing to the floor by the bed, head pushing up against Dean’s hip.

“Sammy, are you ok?” Dean redoubled his efforts to sit up. Sam looked up at him but doesn’t try to stand just yet.

“I’m fine, Dean. Please...just let me have this. I can’t…” The words choked in Sam’s throat.

“You can’t what?” Dean asked, contented with rolling onto his side to look into Sam’s face.

“I can’t lose you again,” Sam confessed, hating the vulnerability in his voice.

“You’re going to be fine, Sammy. You’re stronger than you think you are; you’re stronger than me. You’ll make it.” Dean reached out and tangled his fingers in Sam’s hair.

“No,” Sam moaned. “I won’t. I don’t know how to lose you without losing myself too.”

“What is this about? You’ve been jumpy as hell since we left Broward County. I know it was awful to watch me die but I came right back. I’m right here. And this isn’t Tuesday.” Dean brushed Sam’s hair back to look into his eyes in the lamplight.

“This isn’t about fucking Tuesday,” Sam growled, turning away from Dean’s searching gaze.

“Then what is it about?” Dean asked. Sam still refused to look at him until Dean sighed and tried sitting up again. “Is this about what happened in the woods?”

“Jesus, Dean, you’ll tear your stitches,” Sam said as he gently pushed his brother back down onto the bed.

“Then lie down with me. I know you’re hurting. Let me help you,” Dean whispered. “I won’t do anything you don’t want me to, I promise.”

Sam finally gave in and crawled into the bed behind Dean, gently cradling his brother to his chest once more, ignoring the pain that ignited in his bandaged arm. Dean reached out and grabbed the water and bottle of pills off the bedside table and handed them to his little brother. Sam tensed to argue but Dean lightly pressed on the injured arm and Sam broke out into a cold sweat. He took the painkillers without further argument. Then they lay in silence for a while, listening to each other breathe.

“It wasn’t about what happened,” Sam said softly. “I...wanted that. I think I’ve always wanted that. But you don’t have to indulge me just because you’re dying.”

“I’m not indulging you, Sam,” Dean sighed. “If it isn’t that, then what is it?” Sam said nothing and the silence stretched between them once more.

“It was Wednesday,” Sam finally whispered. Dean didn’t move or say anything, just kept breathing evenly so as not to scare away this moment of honesty. Sam, thinking that his brother had fallen asleep, continued. “You were alive and I was so relieved. I just wanted to get out of that town. So I packed up the room while you carried stuff out. And I heard the gunshot before I knew there was anything wrong and by the time I reached you, it was too late.”

Sam paused, maybe to regain his composure, maybe to make sure Dean was still sleeping. “You died in my arms and I waited to wake up. I waited for six months but every time I opened my eyes, you were still dead. I slept. I ate. I hunted. For six months, that was all I did, that was all I was. I can’t go back. Please don’t make me go back,” Sam wept, his tears soaking the back of Dean’s neck.

Dean slowly and carefully rolled over to face Sam. “I can’t promise you anything. I can’t rewind and make a different choice. I can’t promise you we’ll find a way out of this. But here is what I can promise. I can promise to be here until my year is up. I’m not checking out early so you don’t get to either. And I will do everything I can to make sure you are prepared for this when it happens. Just tell me what you need from me.”

“I just need you,” Sam whispered.

“You have me,” Dean whispered back.

“But not all…” Sam trailed off and looked away from his brother again. “I don’t just want your body,” Sam whispered, placing his palm flat on an undamaged portion of Dean’s chest.

Dean carefully moved his arm and placed one hand against the side of Sam’s face. “You have me,” he repeated. Slowly he leaned in, sharing Sam’s air, and pressed their lips together. The kiss was gentle at first, light as a feather, and tasting of salty tears. But Sam soon broke, trying to pull his brother closer with his damaged arm. Dean deepened the kiss in response.

“You have all of me,” Dean said roughly. He pressed closer, allowing Sam to feel the willing hardness, pressing their erections together. Sam groaned and pressed their lips back together, this time opening his mouth for the filthiest kiss of his life.

Dean moaned but then winced. He slowly grabbed Sam’s hand and placed it on his own ass. “If I let this happen tonight, I will regret it. I am in way too much pain right now to act on any of this. But I promise you, once I’ve healed sufficiently, you are 100% tapping this sweet ass.”

Sam laughed, only 20% desperate sob this time, and held his brother firmly, backing off to gentle kisses once more. Sam would never be good at saying goodbye; he was not built to suffer loss. But if it was fate’s cruel joke that he lose every one he has ever loved, well at least for this moment, he can forget.


End file.
